110lbs of Failure
by likeballet
Summary: Giving up magic and moving to muggle London, Hermione sits in her apartment and views herself within the regrets she has and the things people have done to her. With a pop of apparation, he is here to give her something she needs. SSHG.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A new story I'm starting. The old one seemed very dry, and I'm unispired to write it freely. I still add to it everyday but I find myself editing it more than writing. I had this idea in my head for awhile but wanted to wait till I figured out more about where I wanted the story to go before posting it. I originally started a story in another fandom with almost the same title (but a completely different plot) and threw it out because I hated my direction. Sometimes I find I'm like a cat with it's whiskers cut off. Banging into things. Anyways, here is the new story. I have a few chapters written but I don't post new chapters until I get 5 reviews from the previous one. So if you want the read furthur, REVIEW.

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**110lbs of Failure.**

I woke up to lines of sun on my body that came from the splits in the blinds. The windows in the building were quite large, which is a reason Harry had provoked me into getting it. He said I needed more sunlight. Today, however, there was a lack of intensity coming through. Meaning it was either raining outside or I had woken up really early. I listened a bit more carefully and soon heard the suicidal rain connect heavily with my window pane. It was raining hard. I layed in bed for awhile, staring at the ceiling wondering if there was a way onto the roof. A staircase, a doorway.. something. The lines and patterns in my ceiling started forming images. I saw words, hurtful words. Truthfull words.

"He never loved you." clearly sat above me, twitching, blinking. It faded after awhile when I started to actually look at it. "Worthless" I caught in the corner of my eye, I looked at it right away, knowing it would disappear as soon as my eyes got ahold of it. I didn't want these taunting words there.

I rose from the bed walking towards my window, pulling on a deep blue sweater. I pulled a blind down, looking at the outside world. Very few people walked around, umbrellas in hands, hailing taxi-cabs, running for shelter. I shivered slightly and walked away from it. I neglected gliding on shoes and I snuck out into the hallway, searching for stairs to the roof. I eventually found them, just a few doors down from mine. I hoped the door wasn't alarmed, as I turned the knob slowly, opening it. Nothing happened. I sighed in relief and started walking up the stairs. My bare feet made the slapping noise as I took each step on the cold black metal. My hand found the railing, which was just as cold, and I guided myself up the few steps. The door at the top was a bright yellow and had a small window.

The rain outside was pelting down onto my shoulders as I stepped out, looking to the sky. My eyes filled with rain and I blinked them out, so as not to cause stinging. My mouth was opened and I let some drops fall in before I tilted my head back down, walking over to the edge of the building. I looked out across the town. Miles upon miles of houses and emptry streets. Why did people go into solitude when the rain came down? I wrapped my arms around my body, leaning my upper torso on the edge, looking down at the street below. There were some people huddled under the canope at the entrance.

I had moved into muggle London. Just outside of Diagon alley, just incase I ever needed something of importance. Though it was doubful I would ever return there, I hadn't used my wand in awhile, it sat growing dust on the nightstand beside my bed. My robes were placed in the far corner of my closet and all the books I owned in boxes that had white sheets draped over them. There were so many I was running out of places to put them. Letters, moving photos, anything magical was placed in a far away shoebox.

There were certain things in this world that became too hard. Magic, was not one of them. Yet sometimes I find myself wishing that he chose me instead of that muggle. Was I not pretty enough? Did my use and knowledge of magic intimidate him?

Furthur more, had I not been born a witch, would my parents still be alive? They had been killed in a death-eater raid and I cannot help but know it is my fault. They had nothing to do with it. They'd done nothing wrong.

Magic took away my parents, and stirred away my fiance. I will not let it interfere with my life anymore. So I moved out the Weasly's household and rented my own place. Away from everything that frightened me now. It was a large brick building and was in a respectable part of town. The neighbors, I had not met yet and do no intend to. I'm not looking for friends, just a place to get away.

The walls of the apartment I had rented more than 2 months ago were covered with erotic paintings. Some quite disturbing, others arousing. Some I just couldn't get, they seemed to be splats of beige and brown paint with random brush movements, not bringing anything I could see to life. Maybe it was meant to be puzzling. Maybe there was no real picture. I spent the first night here staring at that one paticular blur of art, pondering a hidden meaning behind it. Seemingly, erotic in a way. I guess it's supposed to be, like the others, but it was a different type of arousing, one i didn't really get. But it was there. Taunting me with the hidden amazment.

I walked around the apartment, deciding on how the day should be played out. I had a few days off of work at the bookstore across the street because of renovations. I decided on eating some lunch, going shopping for groceries since everyhting was running low, and then maybe renting a movie.

Alot of movies that reminded me of him were to be crossed off the list. Or erased and removed immediatly. Too many things reminded me of him, and I cursed myself for attatching him with so many memories. Including the night it all happened.

I remember everything about that night, even the little things. Like how I had drank too much and could feel my knees go weak beneath me as I walked into the back lounge. It was the night of the victory party, and I hadn't slept for a few days before that and I didn't sleep well preceeding. The air around the homemade bar at the Black manor smelt of cheap wine and sex. Sounded of lonliness and misplaced love. And tasted of bitter ashes and cranberry vodka. Yet in the end, as I walked into that room, the only thing I smelt was his cologne, heard was the moans of the man under her and the taste of my drinks coming back up. It all burnt. Every bit of it, not just the booze that were stinging my throat.

I remember feeling myself grow weaker by the second. Her hands were all over him, and his tounge was doing things it should only be doing to me. Her hair was in her face and he didn't bother reaching up to pull it away, he just kept touching her. I had felt my stomach go into flipflops, and my head felt heavier than normal. I had staggered out of the house, and into the streets. I drank more that night than I ever had, and I cried more tears combined in the last 19 or so years of my life. I spent that night alone in some hotel room crying into my beer while he was being thrilled by some girl in ways I thought were only for me.

Somedays I feel so lonely in this place, and it scares me. I sit searching for some form of solace to keep me company but only finding that same bitter taste of ashes and liquor. His cologne still smells the same when I visit the Wealy household, but now it's always mixed with that lingering smell of another woman. As for sounds, if you block out him yelling all you're left with is my unsteady breathing pattern.

It just hurts to breathe in anything but cigarette smoke. The air around me is thick and tasteless. I was never much of a smoker but after that night nothing seemed to calm my nerves. A young woman in the building offered me one and I accepted, knowing I shouldn't.

Sitting infront of my window I pulled out and lit a smoke. The ashes dropping on my black pants, and the dark blue sweater still wet from the rain outside. I gathered an ashtray in my hands, swept off the gray sunstance on my leg and placed the clear glass on there. The bedroom was a dark red colour, and my bedspread was black with dark grey as well. Everything in the room, the photo's on the wall, the furniture; were all black and white. Soothing to me.

In mid-drag an all too familiar pop sounded through my room. I sighed heavily thinking it must be Harry and didn't bother getting up to greet him. Inhaling the air into my lungs, I closed my eyes.

"Harry, nice of you to stop by unanounced," I stated, taking another drag and holding it in my lungs "You know how I hate it when you apparate into my bedroom. From now on apparent into my hallways and knock." turning my head around, instead of seeing a pair of black spectacles and a scar, I saw long black hair and a sallow face.

Letting out the toxic air that I held into my lungs, I breathed out his name. "Professor Snape.."

"Miss Granger."

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Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alot of people have been reviewing through private messages, and I would rather you didn't. It's so much easier for me to get your reviews through the reviewing system since I don't check my email for private messages all that often. And also, through private messaging, people have been asking me my name. Why doesn that matter? If you can guess my name, I'll tell you. How's that?

Also, alot of you say theres lots of different ways to go with this story, but when I came up with the idea I could only see one. The one I'm going with. If you want you can send me a private message with what you think will happen, or your ideas. Don't worry, it's not to steal. I already have 7 or so chapters written, and some bits of the later chapters. Just wondering where your creative minds take you.

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My life had changed. My center had been removed when I cut the magic out of my life. Alot of my habits were not altered, but they were real. All because of me being born the way I was, and a stupid little man who became obsessed with what his father did.

I find myself looking at my watch everyday at the same times, the time he'd usually stepped through the door from work, or called me, or otherwise reminded me of the place I sad in his life.

Memories of Ron Weasly had provided unpleasent little shocks. Even after it happened, I kept his photos around the apartment, but eventually found out my habit of placing them face down without knowing it or turning them away. So I removed all traces of him. I never quite manage to meet anyones eyes anymore, least of all Harry's or the Weaslys. When entering the Weasly home, they would contiue with their usual banter and jokes, momentarily displacing Ron in the conversation. I found my own reaction salted my wounds. The family seemed childish to me now, more than ever before. The way they passed off his behavior as him just beng 'young, too young to understand anything worthy' and I hated it. I was grateful he had gone to Romania for the year for a job.

I began hiding bottles and remdies in odd places when the emotion got the better of me. Or when an unexpected reflection in the mirror stopped my breathing for a few moments. I keep waiting for the days to ameliorate.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, taking another puff of my cigarette and flicking the excess ash into the tray.

"Such a kind welcome," he sneered. "I would think you to be a bit more kinder."

"You think wrong," I tilted my head and stared out the window.

"Arn't you going to offer me a seat?"

I looked at him now, my head still tilted. "Would you accept it?" I arched a brow.

"No, but that is besides the point."

"I don't remember you having such patience, Professor."

"You remember correct," his voice was strained as if he was holding back an insult.

I didn't speak furthur, by the look on his face I assumed he waited my inquiery as to what the hell he was doing in my bedroom. But I just turned my head away again, and took another long drag of my cigarette.

"I sense an emotional malaise with you, Granger. Why?"

"None of your buisness. Why are you here?"

Straightening up furthur, he reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll of paper.

"_Miss. Granger, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's headmisstress, Minerva Mcgonagall, would like to extend her proposal to you. A recent opening to the schools course 'Transfiguration' has yet to be filled. Qualifications that lay with you are more than sufficient, please express your interest or disinterest to the bearer, Professor Severus Snape, as soon as possible_."

Closing the parchment, he looked up at me and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Why me?" I was intruiged. I had only studied Transfiguration at Hogwarts, Potions had been my study afterwards.

"I believe it was explained in the letter," he grimaced.

"No, it said I had qualifications, which I do not. I majored in Potions, not Transfiguration."

"The only thing of any importance you have yet to learn is Anamagi, which Minerva is willing to school you in before you start classes if you wish. Even though you would not need them for the students, unless in a special situation."

"Ask someone else," I simply said, putting out my smoke and stading up.

"I see your ebullience about this is outstanding, do try and think about it first," his sarcasm didn't help my decision.

"If you havn't noticed, I gave up magic. Do you see me wearing robes, or a wand in my back pocket?" I rubbed my forehead "Besides, I'm sure you can find someone far more qualified than I am."

"I have tried, Miss. Granger. But the position can be filled only for a few months by each person we find. Minerva suspects she can count on you," he placed the parchment back inside his robes "besides, she says you owe her one."

Dammit, he's right. I did owe her a big one. Last year she had agreed to help me get into a good university, and managed to get me a scholarship. I had promised her to repay her in some way.

"Do you accept?"

I shook my head, "I don't know. Give me more time to think about it."

He nodded his head once, "I will give you one day. I shall apparate here at exactly Three pm tomorrow afternoon. Good day, Miss. Granger."

With a single pop he was gone.

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As the sky grew darker outside and dulled the lighting in my room, I became quite tired. It was, hoever, only Seven at night. If I slept now I would screw up my sleeping pattern.

So out of boredom, and lacking the ability to think of anyhting other than the proposal that had been offered me earlier in the day, I began organizing things. My CD's, movies, potion ingredients, and books I had left on the shelves that weren't too difficult to read. I enjoyed re-reading the basics to Potions, and I did have some transfiguration books that were interesting. I picked one up called _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_, which I had read several times.

After almost two hours of reading, I closed the book a smiled. Maybe teaching this wouldn't be bad. I did give up magic for immature reasons, and maybe it was time to go back. I closed my eyes and a memory flooded through me.

_"Ron, how could you?" I screamed at him, I was sure my face was red and puffed._

"I don't know, 'mione," he said, looking at his feet.

"That's a lame excuse, try again."

"Alright, alright," he stood up and crossed his arms. "I wanted to know what it was like. She's a squib, and she acted as if I was a huge hero and this amazing story she could tell to her other muggle friends. And muggle people have always interested me, just like they do with Dad. It was like research, nothing more."

Everything after that was dark, and hazy. I didn't bother trying to remember furthur. I was so furiated. At first I thought he still wanted me and when he told me a week later he had fallen in love I hoped that if I gave up magic for him he would give her up for me. I was wrong. Then, my parents died. And it all seemed to fit so well. Magic killed my parents. Some days I think that they'd come back to me if they knew I'd given it up. That things could go back to the way ti was before I got that letter.

But now, it just seems silly. And I do need money. The bookstore barely covers rent. Not that it would matter, I suppose I would have to stay at the castle.

Going back to Hogwarts could be problematic. Emotional turmoil would overtake me, for sure. Yet nobody seemed to remember where the bodies rested just a few years back, where the fire burned, exploded, consumed people like the hand of some malevolent God.

But I remember.

I remember Harry burnt, half-dead on a stretcher, the blood, the noise - I remember everything (no matter how I try to wash it all away in rivers of hot water and scotch). It comes now like unstoppable floods. There is no warmth, no comfort, no distractions from the harsh reality of what has been lost. An innocence, or something like it, gone; where I never knew it could be.

Thankfully Harry survived. George, however, had not. And now Fred walks around as if missing a limb. You can sometimes see him speaking to someone who isn't sitting beside him. He promises George can here him, otherwise he'd stop talking.

I can't even think about all the others lost. Laying lifeless from an unforgivable. Or slowly dying in a hospital wing with no memory and no refuge.

The Order was still strong, with no activity from me. And I regret it, but sometimes I feel it would do no good to have my bitter frame standing around them all.

I pull out a bottle of red wine, even though I like the white better. The red leaves my stomach twisting and prevents me from thinking of anything other than the feeling. I see Hogwarts as a challenge. To overcome a wrentching feeling of war, and death. The colour red haunts me, and so I put it on my walls thinking I would grow accustomed to seeing it everyday. But once my eyes open so do the memories. Red is like a gateway for pain.

And it was time to open it again, without feeling the flood.

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Please review.


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